


like hephaestion who died

by juliet_oscar



Series: blessed be the mystery of love [3]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Boys In Love, M/M, New York, The Met
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 12:42:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14165079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliet_oscar/pseuds/juliet_oscar
Summary: Elio and Oliver go to the Met, and Oliver has feelingsThis is set at the end of September of 84 so between 'cursed by the love that i received' and 'blackbird on my shoulder.''The apartment. He stopped thinking of it as his apartment weeks ago when Elio started spending most nights there, but it wasn’t theirs yet either. Oliver would like nothing more than to ask Elio to move in. To stuff his clothes into the dresser, litter the apartment with his cassette tapes, and squeeze his well-worn paperbacks next to Oliver’s leather-bound texts on the bookshelf. But that was too much, too fast. Elio was eighteen, he had just moved to a new city, and started college, he had so many opportunities to explore, and Oliver did not want to impede on any of it. So as much as it pained him, he tried to hold Elio at arm’s length, insisting he stay at his dorm one night a week and try to get to know his classmates.'





	like hephaestion who died

It is a bright autumn morning. The sky is a brilliant blue peeking between the buildings. Elio has been in New York for a month, and he still isn’t accustomed to just how tall they are.  
Perhaps more astonishing than the buildings though is the park. 

He is amazed at how the city with all its smoke and cars and buildings just stops and gives way to miles of trees.

He is at the edge of the park now making his way up Fifth Avenue to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. 

As he approaches, the beauty of the massive building strikes him. It feels almost rude to refer to it as ’The Met’ as Oliver does. A structure like this deserves a title, not a nickname. 

Oliver wanted to see an exhibit about sport in ancient Greek artwork, and this was the last weekend it is on. Elio loves nothing more than the way Oliver’s face lights up when talking about art. So here he is the last day of September sitting on the steps of the museum scanning the crowd for Oliver.

He had had to meet a professor on the Upper East Side this morning to discuss revisions on his book, so he had left Elio a note asking him to meet him in front of the museum. 

When he finally finds Oliver among the tourists, it is clear he has already spotted Elio.He strides up gracefully, looking every bit as beautiful as he always does, and offers Elio, a hand. 

He accepts, and Oliver pulls him to his feet and into a tight embrace. Elio savors the feeling of their bodies pressed together. If he could, he would spend every moment wrapped in Oliver’s arms.

Too soon Oliver pulls away. Elio wants to kiss him but won’t. They refrain from overt displays of affection in public. They hug, and occasionally Oliver will take his hand but nothing more. Elio knows that this is sensible, and they should be wary, but he hates that he can’t lean over to taste Oliver’s minty sweetness without the other man tensing with fear about who may be watching. It’s New York, they are far safer here than many places, but Oliver has a career that could be ruined if the wrong person knew too much. 

Elio satisfies himself with tangling the fingers of his right hand with those of Oliver’s left. It’s a gesture that can quickly be aborted and explained away if need be but still pleasantly intimate. 

Oliver beams at him. ‘Did you have a good morning?’ He asks as he begins to walk them toward the immense brass doors of the museum, all the while never releasing Elio’s hand. 

‘Could’ve been better,’ Elio responds, ‘I missed you.’ 

‘I’m sure,’ Oliver says returning his cheeky smile over his shoulder, ‘but I’m here now.’ 

Oliver pulls open one of the doors and leads him into the museum’s airy domed entryway. Natural light filters in through windows on the second floor filling the room with a hazy brightness. Elio has been to many beautiful museums in his life, but this one is striking in its contrast to the city around it. The grimy, noisy streets seem miles away. Everything here is wrapped in a muffled calm. 

Oliver lets his hand drop to his side as he runs a hand through his blonde hair.  
‘I never get tired of this place,’ he murmurs. He smiles over at Elio, ‘Follow me,’ he says turning left and guiding them up to a ticket desk. 

He hands the bored looking clerk a ten, and she slides two maroon buttons across the counter. At least they look like buttons, they are, in fact just metal disks with a tab protruding from one side. They have to pause just inside the entrance to the museum proper for Oliver to help Elio affix his to his jacket, bending the tab carefully into a button-hole. 

Elio sees they have entered the Greek and Roman wing. The brilliant white hall in front of him is lined with statues, mostly marble but he spots a few bronzes. 

Oliver guides him to a room off the main hall, ‘I’ll show you some of my favorite permanent pieces after, first I want to see the exhibit.’ 

Elio is surprised to find the room dark and close, nothing like the hall they left behind. The small space is sparsely populated with a few patrons and a museum guard.

Oliver spends most of his time in quiet contemplation. He occasionally leans in close to tell Elio about the subtle details of the figures. 

There is a moment when they are leaning against a display of vases and plates. Oliver moves around behind Elio to his left but leaves his hand resting on the case to his right. It results in Oliver resting his arm gently around Elio’s shoulders as he whispers, ‘You are so damn distracting. Do you know that?’ 

Elio turns slightly into his chest and smiles up at him, feeling utterly content wholly encircled by him, ‘Yeah?’ He bites his lip and Oliver groans. He gives his shoulder a brief squeeze before moving away. 

They leave the exhibit and make their way to the courtyard at the end of the hall. The glass ceiling leaves the room brightly lit as if they are standing outdoors. They explore the sculptures. Elio is particularly fond of a bronze of Artemis and a deer that looks a bit like a dog. 

They come to a bronze portrait of Alexander the Great. Both look into the empty eyes of the portrait.

Without looking at Oliver, Elio says, ‘They say he laid with Hephaestion’s body for days after his death. His men eventually had to drag him away. He razed cities in his grief.’ Oliver wraps an arm gently around his waist and presses their sides together. The wordless gesture secures him as Elio tries not to imagine what he would do if Oliver died. He thinks of the pain of Oliver leaving expounded by the knowledge that he would never come back. 

They begin to make their way back down the hall. Oliver remarking on various figures as they pass.

As they approach the end of the hall, Elio finds himself transfixed by a massive statue near the entrance of the wing. He doesn’t know how he could have missed it coming in. It’s not even a complete statue, just a fragment of a face. The card below the piece reads, ‘fragmentary colossal marble head of a youth.’ All that remains of this youth is the lower part of his nose and his sensuous mouth. Elio can’t believe something as cold as marble could look so supple and soft. This piece is so evocative that he can imagine he sees the youth’s whole face even above the jagged edges of the fragment. 

He glances to Oliver to find him staring, not at the fragment but at Elio himself. His gaze radiates affection. Having been caught staring he states, ‘He looks like you.’ 

Elio raises his eyebrows in amusement, but upon closer inspection of the older man’s face, he realizes he’s not joking. Elio is not sure how to respond, ultimately deciding to merely bring his eyes back to the youth. 

On their way out, as they are about to reach the desk where they bought their tickets Oliver wraps his hand firmly around Elio’s wrist and pulls him gently down a dim hall to the left. Elio notices a sign that states, ‘Tours Meet Here’ but the hallway is currently deserted. In the shadowy recess, Oliver pushes him against the wall. Elio tries to remain quiet, but he gasps as Oliver nips affectionately at his lower lip. Pulling away Oliver cradles his face in his hands. He slowly thumbs his lip, dragging it away from his teeth. 

‘Let’s go home,’ he breathes. 

Elio nods, loving that he calls it ‘home’ not ‘my place,’ as if it is their home together. 

…..

One thing Oliver hates the most about the city is public transportation. It’s useful but also incredibly inconvenient when all he wants to do is pull Elio’s clothes off, and it takes them three transfers to get home. He is antsy by the time they make it back to the apartment.

The apartment. He stopped thinking of it as his apartment weeks ago when Elio started spending most nights there, but it wasn’t theirs yet either. Oliver would like nothing more than to ask Elio to move in. To stuff his clothes into the dresser, litter the apartment with his cassette tapes, and squeeze his well-worn paperbacks next to Oliver’s leather-bound texts on the bookshelf. But that is too much, too fast. Elio is eighteen, he had just moved to a new city, and started college, he had so many opportunities to explore, and Oliver did not want to impede on any of it. So as much as it pains him, he tries to hold Elio at arm’s length, insisting he stay at his dorm one night a week and try to get to know his classmates. 

That being said Elio does have his own set of keys by now and is currently struggling with the lock. Eventually, he manages to put enough pressure on the door while simultaneously lifting the handle slightly to hit the sweet spot that allows the door to swing inward. 

Elio begins his usual routine of dropping his keys in the bowl by the door and stepping out of his shoes when he turns to Oliver, ‘What?’

‘What?’

‘I can feel you watching me,’ he says. 

He dips his head a bit avoiding Elio’s eyes. He’s right of course, he was watching him. He looks up and meets Elio’s gaze. 

‘I love you,’ he says it quietly but confidently, he doesn’t want Elio to have any doubts that he means it. 

He sees Elio’s face shift from curiosity to circumspection. It’s the first time he’s told him that.  
He’s thought it every day since that afternoon on the berm, and it kills him to think Elio doesn’t seem to believe it. 

‘Why?’

This simple question breaks his heart. Not only because Elio is questioning his affection but because of the marked change in him. This isn’t the boy who told him that he loved their time together, who kissed him desperately that day. Oliver knows this change is his fault. He knows he has given Elio no reason to trust him. 

He reaches across the divide between them and hugs Elio to him. He squeezes him tightly, clutching at his back, hoping to express the ferocity of his feeling. 

He pulls back cupping Elio’s face in his hands. 

’Everything,’ he whispers, ’Everything you do makes me love you a little more. The look in your eyes when you saw that fragment of that statue as if you wanted it to tell you all of its secrets. The sound of your voice when you talked about Alexander and Hephaestion.’  
Elio’s eyes are downcast, but his lips are turned up in the suggestion of a smile. 

’You know I love you too,’ he mumbles still not making eye contact. 

Oliver’s eyes brim with tears, knowing he has done nothing to deserve this miracle of a boy standing in front of him. 

‘Yes,’ he says kissing him briefly, ‘yes, of course, I know.’ 

He presses their brows together and kisses him. It’s a chaste, closed mouth kiss because he wants Elio to know this is not just lust, though, god knows there’s that as well. 

When he breaks away, Elio steps back smiling lightly. He walks to the hall, at the door to the bedroom he turns to face Oliver again.

’Well, are you coming?’ He asks wryly pushing his way into the room. Oliver bounds after him, grinning. 

He catches Elio next to the bed and presses their lips together. This kiss is less caste than before. Oliver hopes Elio can still feel the deep love behind the lust that is beginning to take precedence.

He quickly dispenses with their shirts and shoves Elio onto his back on the bed. He kneels between his feet, which are still planted firmly on the floor. 

He slowly unbuttons him and drags his jeans off.

By now Elio has pushed himself up onto his elbows and is looking down at him, thin chest heaving. 

Oliver hastily joins him on the bed. It takes a few moments of adjustment before Oliver rests his weight on Elio’s body. This simple act makes the younger man close his eyes and hum with pleasure. 

Oliver shifts up from his elbows when he feels Elio’s fingers grasping at his waist.

Without fully opening his eyes he says, ’Not yet. I love this feeling. I, I need this.’ 

Oliver lowers himself to his elbows again and buries his face in Elio’s neck. He slowly begins to kiss behind his ear and along his jaw. 

’I love the way you speak,’ he starts, not raising his lips from Elio’s skin, breathing his praise into him. ’The way you talk about art and history and poetry. I could spend the rest of my life listening to you.’

Elio’s Adam's apple bobs under his lips as he continues, ’The way you continue to read books with hopelessly broken spines and the way you sometimes wear your headphones upside down, dangling below your chin.’ 

He pauses at Elio’s collarbone looking up at the younger man for permission to continue, and Elio nods almost imperceptibly. 

As he makes his way down his chest, he maintains his list, ’Your clothes. How is it possible for someone to look so good in clothes that barely fit?’ Elio’s stomach vibrates with laughter. At this Oliver looks up to his face. Elio is watching him with an awestruck smile. At that moment there is nothing Oliver wants more than to keep that smile on his face for as long as possible. 

Pressing a kiss below his belly button,’The way you slide and dance into a room. And these hips. God, save me from these hips,’ he says biting gently at the delicate skin above his hip bones. 

He brings their faces together again and whispers, ’There are so many things I love, I cannot begin to count them,’ against Elio’s lips. He could spend the rest of the evening telling him the ways he loves him, but he can feel Elio’s hardness through the thin fabric of his boxers and knows that once they are removed there will not be much more talking. 

He kisses Elio one more time, trying to impress him with his love, before slipping his fingers below the waistband of his underwear.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the ending. I know, I am the worst kind of person, but I really can't write porn. 
> 
> That being said, thank you for reading. I hope that my love for the Met wasn't too distracting. 
> 
> I struggled a lot with historical accuracy with this one. So there really was an exhibit on sport in ancient Greek art at the Met that closed on Sept. 30, 1984, but most of the details about the museum are based on my experiences there in present day. All of the pieces mentioned are pieces currently in the Greek and Roman wing of the Met. I contemplated only including those that had been acquired 1984 or earlier but decided to let it slide. 
> 
> Again, thank you so much for reading!


End file.
